A Small Town in Georgia
by thisnameissatirical
Summary: Scarecrow's been having nightmares of his tormented past, and he decides to pay the small town in Georgia a little visit.


**I had an idea and I really wanted to write it. So we'll see where this goes. **

* * *

Jonathan Crane was a miserable child.

No, that was an understatement. He was in absolute despair, wallowing in self-pity and soaking up hatred. He believed that he would be better dead, and often wished a fateful ending upon himself. He wanted absolutely nothing more than to give up and leave the wretched planet he was born on.

However, Jonathan was nowhere near lucky. Instead, he was trapped, living with a demented devil-like grandmother in a sick and twisted town. He was born out of wedlock, a bastard child, to a drug addicted mother and a whoreish father. He was tossed away, taken in by the devil incarnate, tormented, abused...

Was there no end to his torture?

It appeared not.

* * *

"Scarecrow!"

"Ichabod Crane!"

"Skeleton!"

Really, Jonathan thought, were there no better insults?

Jonathan's thoughts were sarcastic, but his face nor his actions reflected it. He was backed into a tree, three boys surrounding him, the one leader, Bo Griggs, the head of this terrible herd, closest.

"Hey, Scarecrow," Bo sneered, "I heard you like Sherry Squires. You pitiful freak."

"She's too good for the likes of you!" One of his goons, Earl, added, "You're nothing but a skinny Scarecrow!"

"Scarecrow!"

"_Scarecrow_!"

* * *

Jonathan Crane's eyes shot open, his heart pounding. However, he remained expressionless, as he calmly sad upright on his cot. He was in Arkham, he had been caught by the Bat for the god-knows-how-many-umpteenth time. He had been stealing chemicals for a new toxin he had in mind. He was caught in the middle of it.

How... Degrading.

No, he was not 17 again. He was not being tormented by bullies (unless you counted the Bat), and he was not back home in Georgia.

He left that a long time ago, when Bo was paralyzed and Sherry and his Granny killed. Why was it coming back up again? Peculiar.

As it was, he only awoke a few mere minutes before the scheduled wake up time was in Arkham. He stood, albeit on unsteady legs, and grabbed the single novel in his cell, one that he assumed must have been left in his cell the night before.

"Greatest Works of Edgar Allen Poe." Crane read quietly, "Fitting, every doctor assumes I'm a Poe fan." Which wasn't to say that he wasn't. He enjoyed his short stories more than anything, but sometimes a Master of Fear required something a little less on the macabre side and a little more gut wrenching horror.

Nonetheless, poems were calming. Almost as calming as nursery rhymes.

Yet, he was only two stanzas in on a poem he'd already read a thousand times before the intercom crackled unpleasantly and the tired voice of Dr Bartholomew appeared.

"Good morning patients, I hope your rest was pleasant. Orderlies will be collecting you shortly for breakfast."

Never had a voice made Jonathan want to gas someone so badly. He set aside the book and stood as an orderly unlocked his cell door. The men in white roughly grabbed his arms and shoved him down to the cafeteria.

...

"Rough morning, huh, Jonathan?"

Crane assumed he had disgusting circles under his eyes as he barely glanced up at Edward Nigma, who had been forced to sit beside him by his own special orderlies (the lowest IQs, only for him), eyes narrowed into slits and his patience already worn down to absolutely nothing.

"I've always had circles under my eyes, Nigma," he said with a bored tone, "Now, if this is your idea of a conversation-"

"Suppose there is a set of twins that you meet upon a forked road," Nigma replied, "One twin always lies, whereas one twin constantly tells the truth. Both of the twins know which road you must take, however you can only ask them one question to find out which road you must take. What do you ask them?"

Jonathan rubbed his temples, "Edward," he started, "You've asked me this before and I know I had the right answer. What's the point?"

"You are that chronic liar," Edward smirked, "And you don't even realize it."

Crane didn't grace him with a response, and instead jammed the fork into the table, an evil sneer on his face.

Nigma placed his chin in his hand and nodded, "That answer will suffice. Riddle me this, Jonny-boy," he noted the look of disgust on Jonathan's face, at that, with a smile, "I thought you knew everyone's sleeping patterns here at Arkham. Then why would you lie to me and say your sleep wasn't interrupted?"

"You saw."

"In fact, I saw nothing. It was what I heard. You know, Crane, full well that I have bouts of insomnia, much like you. In fact, we're even on the same medication!" Nigma's smirk widened, "Your dreams are quite stirring. I thought you'd have dealt with your childhood tormentors?"

Crane grit his teeth and yanked the fork out of the table, just in time to have had it taken away by an orderly who had rushed to his side after hearing the thud. The orderly replaced it with a plastic spoon and quickly retreated- no doubt to talk to Doctor Leeland about setting back Crane's progress by a few weeks.

Jonathan was tempted to crack the spoon in two and stab Nigma's gloating face, but he resisted.

"I did." Jonathan replied through clenched teeth.

"You can relax, I assure you that I only heard slight murmuring. I am the cell right next to yours, we share a vent."

"If it was only slight murmuring, then, pray tell, why the hell did you focus in on me?" Jonathan replied, clenching the plastic spoon in his hand.

"I had too much flying through my head. My mind was racing, yadda yadda." Edward rolled his eyes, "It helped me focus in on something, or that, at least, is what the doctors want me to say."

"Need I remind you, yet again, that being a doctor in these halls was one of my more distinguished professions?" Crane replied, "Or do you forget that I can see right through your nonchalant facade and into your fearful little heart?"

A tinge of worry in Edward's eyes grew, and Jonathan sneered. Leave to a few well placed words to make the narcissistic Edward Nigma image crumble.

Immediately the worry was replaced with something more exciting. A gleam of revenge shone in his eyes.

"Perhaps you should go back to your hometown and make them all suffer." Edward smiled.

Jonathan's sneer turned into a smirk, "Sometimes you say things are aren't entirely stupid, Nigma."

Of course, the look was gone and Edward's eyes widened angrily, "STUPID?"

Jonathan turned away from his fellow villain, who was now being taken up by orderlies to return to his cell, or possibly solitary, as he was yelling things about his IQ and intelligence and overall making a large and unnecessary scene.

He would keep him in mind if he ever needed a distraction for his escape. It's... Intriguing that a few mean comments about Edward's intelligence brought him down to mess.

Jonathan haphazardly looked down at the spoon he had in his hand and snapped it in half. He believed for his next escape plan he would require himself in solitary confinement...

And let the Scarecrow come out and play.

So he stood up, tossing over the food tray and pointed the sharp edge of the spoon at the nearest orderly. He let madness gain control and he yelled his generic rant on how the world would succumb to fear.

Solitary was the only sure way to get it alter ego to stay out, and it was the only way to get his revenge on the pitiful town he was born in.


End file.
